| I heard the day of our night shall start with the setting of the sun
|
| And the hardship of labour shall for three blessed hours be undone
|
| I walk into the gossip
|
| Fulfil my needs
|
| Eat to satiate that which has flown
|
| Rub my dirty fingers upon the denim that shall one day be cashmere,
|
| and find the cash for the phone
|
| Call Donna to say I’m tired
|
| Call her every night
|
| Beaches sound the same over the phone
|
| Just a lot of laughter and sunlight and William (her boyfriend) feeling her up
|
| So tacky
|
| So she groans
|
| So I laugh; |
| an old friend, but fucking William!
|
| I want to crack his neck and perform one million castrations with his bones
|
| No I won’t no I won’t no I won’t
|
| I shall descend into my bunk
|
| And wonder
|
| And wonder at the cold
|
| And wonder that anything has ever happened before this date to make me feel
|
| uncold
|
| I remember my youth: seeing some great 'scape, some sinless plot of Dawn’s nape
|
| Some stretch of white dawn lit tip or cape
|
| Or horn or frosty bit of land’s last head of state
|
| Seeing myself bundled
|
| Some blind youth thinking that all land could just be surveyed
|
| And not, you know, dug up:
|
| Sure Donna you can borrow 200 bucks
|
| Reagan sucks
|
| The weather sucks
|
| The blasted cold curls my hand
|
| The quarters are hell to hold
|
| The quarters are hell to hold
|
| I want to talk to you now
|
| I want to tell you that William is the whore
|
| William is the whore!
|
| The simpering beast in a cage
|
| The bastard drunk in the rage
|
| The blasted heath on the page
|
| The fucking whimper from some sage pretty boy from outside of the city,
|
| but close enough to know, man, that city girls are the only way to lose
|
| yourself in darkness, man!
|
| William, you’re going to be losing yourself in darkness before the fourth wind
|
| arrives
|
| William, you’re going to be losing yourself in darkness before the fourth wind
|
| arrives |